


Your Breath Reclaiming Mine

by Neeka



Series: Cornerstone [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neeka/pseuds/Neeka
Summary: “The aftermath of any traumatic situation was often the hardest part. When it happened, there was adrenaline, there was the fierce human desire to live, there was a determination to get through it no matter what. More than anything, it just happened; nothing you could do to stop events progressing, hardly any time to even think about it. But afterwards?Yeah, what came after always seemed to be worse for Daryl.”





	Your Breath Reclaiming Mine

_It should bother him, being so close to somebody. He always thought it would. He should feel confined, held down, his skin itching from being touched for too long._

_But he didn’t; all Daryl felt was perfect bliss, total comfort._

_He and Paul were curled up together in their bed, in their trailer and for the hazy hour or so between dawn and when they’d eventually rise, all Daryl knew was total contentment._

_He couldn’t move, his body was too intertwined with Paul’s; their legs pressed together, his hand gently tangled in Daryl’s hair. He breathed in the scent of Paul’s skin and felt the warmth coming off him, feeling a kind of peace he never thought he’d achieve. Daryl couldn’t help but run his fingers over the scar that decorated Paul’s neck; it was long healed by now and had only ever seemed to make him look even more striking._

_He both hated and loved that scar, just as Paul hated and loved Daryl’s own; the permanent marks reminders of terrible situations but also of the fact they’d survived them. Despite everything that had happened to the both of them in their lives, they were somehow still there, the universe or fate or sheer dumb luck allowing them to both exist at the same time and find each other. For them to both be together._

_It had taken a lot but for the simple feeling of lying tangled together, safe and warm in their bed, Daryl knew it was all worth it, an easy price to pay._

————

The aftermath of any traumatic situation was often the hardest part. When it happened, there was adrenaline, there was the fierce human desire to live, there was a determination to get through it no matter what. More than anything, it just _happened_ ; nothing you could do to stop events progressing, hardly any time to even think about it. But afterwards?

Yeah, what came after always seemed to be worse for Daryl.

When they finally staggered back to Hilltop, Daryl refused to answer any questions or let Paul either, too hyper focused on the feeling of Paul’s blood on his hands, just wanting to get him seen to so he could accept that Paul wasn’t just going to drop down and die. Logically he knew that was nonsense, but his heart was still too full of fear, mind replaying that moment over and over; the turn, the knife slicing into Paul’s skin, the man just having been able to move it enough that it wouldn’t kill him.

Daryl couldn’t make himself leave the medical trailer when he delivered Paul there, he just stood sentry as a concerned Siddiq told Paul to remove his blood drenched shirt. Daryl’s stomach twisted as the movement pulled at Paul’s wound, making the shallow, slightly closed over parts open again, small trails of blood trickling once more down his chest. The deepest parts had never really stopped bleeding at all.

As the other man used a wash cloth to remove the new and old blood all over his chest, Daryl couldn’t help but look him over. He was slight, that much was always obvious, but tightly muscled, not that it came as a surprise considering what he could do. If the whole situation was any less dire, and Daryl’s emotions and thoughts not fucked to hell, he was sure he’d be red faced by now.

Instead, Daryl just watched over him as he was stitched up. In the company of Siddiq, Paul pulled on his calm, serene Jesus face with apparent ease, chatting and misdirecting like it was second nature to do so. But Daryl had seen under that mask now and could see the lingering darkness in his eyes.

He felt connected to Paul, even more than he admittedly already did; they were joined together now by a shared experience of something horrific. It was strange to watch Paul, to see the mask he put on for everyone and know that there was so much more to him, something that Daryl was pretty sure he was the only one to see.

When Maggie stormed in and gasped at the sight of them both, Paul gently consoled and reassured her. Daryl was honestly shocked at how easily Paul could put aside his own shit and help someone else. If he hadn’t seen it, Daryl would never have suspected that something so horrible had happened. He couldn’t help but wonder how much shit Paul had gone through, or done, and no one was any the wiser.

When Maggie turned on him, Daryl found he couldn’t even speak, just nodding and grunting as she asked if he was okay. He knew if she prodded, if she poked too much, something would happen. Whether he’d explode in anger or storm out or fucking break down crying, he wasn’t sure, but none of those things were acceptable, he wouldn’t allow it. Not now and not with Maggie, she didn’t deserve any extra shit.

Paul met his gaze over Maggie’s shoulder and Daryl felt himself relax because he knew Paul had seen that and understood. He finished up with Siddiq, smiling at the young doctor like his neck wasn’t now adorned with a thick, jagged, stitched up cut that would scar him forever. The sight of it made Daryl feel sick, stomach twisting with guilt and anger.

Paul gently took hold of Maggie’s arm and told her they’d speak in her office. She reluctantly agreed and Daryl felt like he could breath again. He trusted Paul, knew nothing would be said that they both wanted to keep secret. Paul could spin and twist words till they sounded like the gospel truth, whereas Daryl would never have managed that, especially not with Maggie.

Paul thanked Siddiq and told him to check Daryl out. He’d almost forgotten about his head, the pounding becoming background noise amidst all the other horror. On his way past, Paul ever so gently squeezed Daryl’s shoulder, the physical touch settling him instead of startling him. Fuck, even his twitchy, long conditioned body knew he was safe with Paul.

Once Paul left, Maggie hot on his heels, the room felt colder. Daryl had nothing to focus on but the throbbing of his scull and Siddiq’s hands prodding at the small cut on the back of his head. It wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, already mostly closing over, it just needed cleaning and disinfecting. He did need to be careful of the mild concussion he had though. Daryl barely suppressed a scoff, by now he didn’t need a damn doctor to tell him when he had one of those, or what to do with them.

Siddiq had wanted to keep him under observation, but Daryl refused. A burning itch had started under his skin now that he’d been given space, now that he’d stopped watching over Paul and distracting himself. He needed to get away from prying eyes, needed to get somewhere _safe_.

Daryl hoped Siddiq’s worried look stemmed only from not wanting to let a concussed patient go off on their own, but he didn’t stick around long enough to make sure. There was a buzzing in his ears, a foggy kind of disconnect falling over him. Honestly, it was nothing short of a a miracle that he made it back to the trailer with no one running into him or trying to talk. Trying to ask about the blood all over his skin.

Fuck, he was covered in blood. It was Paul’s mostly and the thought of it made him want to puke. He needed to shower. Needed to get the blood off him. Needed to wash away the fucking breath he could still feel on the back of his neck. The nails on his back. He needed-

Daryl crashed through the door, breath coming thick and fast. He barely had enough presence of mind to check he was alone before stripping out of his clothes like they were on fire. His body felt shaky and out of his control, lungs burning, head pounding.

He just about managed to stagger into the shower and turn it on before his legs gave out and dumped him on the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hunched over in the cramped shower stall as water almost too hot for him to stand poured over him.

Daryl watched the blood run off him, swirling around his feet as it made its way to the drain. That was _Paul’s_ blood. Blood he spilt because of him, because he was too fucking stupid not to get caught. Because he froze up. But if he hadn’t, if Paul hadn’t done what he had then- that fucker- he’d have-

His thoughts went white and blank.

Daryl floated far away from them, barely feeling his body shaking and chest heaving. It should have worried him but he was too far removed to properly understand what was happening or what to do to stop it. It felt like he was going to _die_ , chest burning so badly he was sure it’d split right open, ribs sprouting through his skin like macabre blossoms. Everything just felt _wrong_.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long he stayed under the hot spray shaking apart. He faintly recognised the sound of the trailer door opening and moments later, a gentle tap on the bathroom door.

“Daryl? Are you there? Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth but he couldn’t speak, words all caught up and tangled by the barbed-wire in his throat.

“Okay, just bang on the door if you can hear me.”

Daryl raised a shaky hand and banged once on the door of the shower. It took far more effort than it should have.

“Okay good Daryl, that’s fine. You don’t have to make yourself speak yet okay? I’ll just sit here and talk if that’s alright?”

Daryl banged again, hoping Paul would understand that yes, he wanted him to stay. Wanted to know that Paul was just outside, that he could listen to his friend’s calm voice. He _needed_ to.

Paul started talking then; his soothing, even tones made Daryl slump back against the shower wall, tension ever so slowly leaving his muscles as he listened. He talked about utter nonsense, things in no way related to anything going on in their lives; no pain, no war, no death around every corner. Instead he talked about books and music, about how much he missed this one particular take out place and watching all the lights come on in a city at night. He also told him about the time he tried to sneak back into his room in the group home after his first night out at a gay bar. Even through Daryl’s still fuzzy head, he found the story amusing.

Paul’d been seventeen and stupid, finally getting up the courage to check the bar out with his new best friend; a fake ID. Once inside he’d realised pretty quick that he stuck out like a sore thumb in his baggy, boring, second hand clothes. It didn’t take more than five minutes of awkwardly standing around for him to be accosted by three drag queens who, upon being told it was his first venture onto the gay scene, eagerly ushered him under their wing. They also refused to let him do it wearing what he was.

Which was how he ended up trying to climb the tree alongside the group home drunk off his ass and covered in glitter, wearing a touch of eyeliner, a skin tight fishnet top and leather pants. It’d all been going well for the most part, until a branch snagged on his top and yanked him back with a cry. Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on the ground with lights coming on and boys poking their heads through their windows. He’d had a lot more of them trying to kick his ass that week apparently.

“Should’a kept hold of ya own stuff,” Daryl finally managed to choke out. “Idiot.”

Paul didn’t make a big deal of him finally talking, just chuckled after a brief moment of silence.

“Yeah you’re probably right, but I was young and excited. We live and learn!”

Quiet fell for a moment, Daryl’s breathing finally under control again and the shaking in his body all but gone, leaving him feeling weak. He was sure he’d be mortally embarrassed if he wasn’t so exhausted; Paul having to sit outside the door and talk to him so Daryl could stop feeling like he was dying was hardly his proudest moment. Whether he’d feel embarrassed later or not would remain to be seen, but Daryl still couldn’t help but feel grateful above all else.

“You doing better in there now?”

Daryl cleared his throat at Paul’s question and tried his voice again. “Yeah.”

“It wasn’t your fault you know? What happened.”

“Was.” He’d croaked out the word before he even realised it, head thumping back against the stall.

“Daryl, you’re an intelligent man, so don’t be an idiot. It was their fault, _his_ fault, no one else’s. What happened was horrible and twisted and just pure fucking evil. You aren’t to blame for that.”

Daryl scoffed darkly, shivering from the cooling water. “Feels like my fault.”

The quiet, raw tone to his voice made Daryl want to punch himself, but instead he just listened to Paul sigh and a gentle thump against the door, like he’d sat down with his back against it.

“Yeah I know,” Paul began, just as quiet. “But I promise it wasn’t. Might not seem that way right now, but please try and give yourself a break. It’s all awful enough to deal with as it is, don’t add guilt to the mix too.”

Silence fell for a moment.

“Sorry ya had to do that,” Daryl muttered.

“Like I said before Daryl, it was worth it. I’ve got your back.”

“Got yours too.”

They didn’t speak again after that, but Daryl slowly relaxed against the wall of the shower, knowing without doubt that on the other side of the door sat Paul. Once again, that feeling of safety washed over him, and not even just a physical safety, but simply the knowledge that somebody understood him and was _with_ him. Daryl had never experienced that before, not fully. He came close with Rick and Carol, but there was always a sense of having to keep bits of himself apart from them for various reasons.

But somehow, with the guy who slammed into his life, tricked him and stole his truck, Daryl had found something. He hesitated to name it, even within his own head, but he was well aware of the connection, something inside of him reaching out towards Paul like a seed sprouting through the dirt and searching for the sun.

Whatever it was, Daryl was grateful. It was frightening, venturing out into the unknown, but he knew one thing for sure; he didn’t want to return to the dark, not after he’d seen that light.

————

They had two days grace, two days of preparing and planning before all hell broke loose again and Simon came knocking.

Their bombs worked a trick, warning everyone where the Saviours were coming from and taking some of the pricks out of the equation entirely. Rick had also had the idea of sticking nails into planks of wood to pop their tires.

Seeing his brother emerge from his grief to finish it, suggesting something that worked back when he was a cop and throwing himself back into planning and leading, brought a huge wave of relief to Daryl. Rick was fury and grief untempered, but he’d get the job done. He and Michonne could grieve properly after, or so he’d said.

After their heart to heart in the trailer, Daryl and Paul were all but inseparable. Daryl felt more solid when he was around and it seemed like Paul felt the same. They stayed in the trailer together, not that either of them had much time to rest, but it felt like a safe retreat from the world, something Daryl wanted to protect.

He was watching Paul before the bombs went off, eying him over critically as he cleaned his stitched up cut, disinfecting it and sticking some gauze over it to protect it. He didn’t wince but Daryl couldn’t help it; the thought of what could have happened still shot ice through his spine. What if something like that happened again? They were about to plunge head first into battle any day, any moment now and he had so much to loose.

Daryl opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when the first explosions rang out, screams and shouts following them. They looked over at each other, eyes seeking each other out for reassurance. This was it, the beginning of the end.

He wished there was more time; time to say something, to make him promise to be careful, to just fucking _touch_ him, but there wasn’t. The two of them just grabbed their weapons and left the trailer, heading to where Maggie was. As Daryl watched Paul from the corner of his eye, both of them heading off into the unknown where one might not make it back, he found himself praying that they’d get to return to the trailer that night, safe and together. Maybe even victorious.

Everything was a blur after that. Negan wasn’t there to everyone’s dismay, it was just Simon in charge of the group he’d brought. Dwight was there too, the fucker, the very sight of him still setting Daryl’s blood boiling. Fighting broke out as they all knew it would, words were simply formalities and the faintest whisper of hope now.

Daryl executed his part of the plan and for once, he didn’t fuck it up, then he was free to move around and fight as he wanted, protecting his people and killing the attacking Saviours with brutal, grim enjoyment. The more of them he got now, the less there would be later, when Negan eventually returned to finish it. They’d be ready and they’d fucking win, they’d come too far, gone through too much to accept anything else.

Daryl was making his way towards the trailers where some of the Hilltop fighters had been penned in, ducking behind barricades to avoid dying but unable to move, when he saw him.

Paul emerged from the smoke like a ghost, killing one Saviour and vanishing, then another. The Saviours soon decided he was the better target and followed him; the prick probably planned it that way too, drawing them away from his people. Everything in Daryl itched to follow immediately, to help him, but he knew Paul wanted the trapped fighters safe.

Daryl laid down cover fire to any other Saviours nearby and shouted at the trapped Hilltop fighters to move, to head to Barrington. They listened instantly, relief and fear on their faces in equal measure. Daryl stayed until he knew they were safe before running towards the place he last saw Paul go, a group of Saviours on his tail and thirsty for blood. He knew what Paul could do, had seen it with his own two eyes, but it only took a second for it to all be over, just one lucky shot or slice.

He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. Paul was there, was alive and fighting, but something was wrong. Whether he was pulling his punches and fighting to disarm, or utterly destroying those in his way, Paul never looked anything less than fully present, fully in control of his thoughts and actions.

He didn’t look that way now. He had a vacant look on his face that Daryl had never seen before, his moves fluctuating between fast and hard or slow and weak, nothing like his usual controlled grace. Daryl knew he could have dropped every single Saviour in front of him in moments so why hadn’t he?

A gore soaked knife got too close to Paul’s stomach and Daryl’s heart nearly stopped. He didn’t stop to think any further, he just fired, clean shots to the head that dropped two before they even realised he was there. The other two tried to run but he mowed them down too before turning back to Paul.

“Paul?”

Daryl recognised that look on his face and he knew Paul wasn’t really there, not fully anyway. As much as he wanted to rush over and grab him, it would probably be safer for all involved if he at least gave a little warning first.

He moved closer, ignoring the gunfire and shouting to focus on the man in front of him. He was about to speak again when Paul finally looked at him, recognition flashing over his face, followed by something else, there and gone too quickly for Daryl to know for sure.

Then his face hardened and Daryl couldn’t help but think of the thick, metal doors of the CDC slamming shut, only this time they were locking him out. Whatever was going on in Paul’s head was suddenly utterly inaccessible to Daryl. It hurt more than he was comfortable admitting.

The gunfire increased, more screams erupting into the air around them. Paul checked his knives before heading back out into the fray, Daryl following hot on his heels, eyes on his rigid back and trying very hard not to hate the fact that Paul hadn’t even looked at him.

There wasn’t much time for thinking after that. The fight was winding down but still vicious and all he could focus on was taking down as many Saviours as he could before they retreated. He tried to keep sight of Paul but the man came and went, herding injured or trapped people back to Barrington.

Not long after, Simon called for retreat, the remaining Saviours, of which Dwight was unfortunately still amongst, leaving with their tails between their legs. It was victory, but not much of one. They all wanted Negan to have been there, for it to be the last fight they had to endure, but it seemed that would be too easy. Still, they had to have reduced the Saviours numbers which could only give them a better chance when they met again, hopefully for the last time. Daryl wasn’t sure how many more battles they all had in them. He just wanted it _done_.

The clean up took almost as much time as the fight itself; there was the gate to close back up and fortify, fires to put out, walkers to dispose of. Then there were the dead, dying and injured to take care of, a grim and painful task for all involved. Daryl tried not to look at the faces of the bodies he helped move but he did anyway, familiar guilt accompanying his weak-kneed relief that they weren’t any of his.

He kept catching glimpses of Paul but he never stayed still long enough for Daryl to say a single word. Paul _still_ hadn’t looked at him. The sun had set by the time they’d finished all they could do but it wasn’t until Daryl finally caught sight of Paul heading to their trailer that he stopped what he was doing. Rounding up the dropped Saviour weapons could wait, Daryl needed to know what was up with Paul.

He yanked open the door of the trailer and stormed in, eyes falling on Paul sat at his table staring at his hands.

“What the fuck was that huh?”

Daryl hadn’t intended to come at it so hard but he was angry, the kind of angry that only came from being bone deep scared. As much as it had been a shock to see Paul utterly destroying those Saviours a few days ago, it was far worse seeing him so out of tune with his own actions. He was distracted and absent and he could had _died_.

“Please go away Daryl, I really can’t be dealing with raised voices right now.”

He sounded tired and hollowed out, Daryl’s worry going up a few notches.

“Well tough shit. What the hell just happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh don’t even try that shit with me Paul,” he growled. “Somethin’ obviously fuckin’ did.”

“Are you seriously shouting at me right now? Really?”

“Yes! Because you could’a _died_! Why the fuck weren’t you fighting? You could’a killed them in seconds!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Paul ground out, voice full of tension.

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“ _Because_ I can!”

It wasn’t often anyone ever heard Paul raise his voice, Daryl could count it on one hand with fingers to spare, so to hear it mixed with desperation and stress was a shock. But it was his expression that really struck Daryl, Paul having finally looked away from his hands. He looked haunted.

Oh. The Saviours in the clearing, of course. Daryl wanted to kick himself for not realising sooner.

Paul laughed, a hollow, dry sound and looked back at his hands. “You know, I actually thought I could forget it? That I could put it in a box, throw it behind me and never think of it again. I was doing fine, for the most part. But when that group was in front of me, it all came back.”

Guilt burned through Daryl like acid, it was _his_ fault Paul had to do that. “‘M sorry ya had to do it.”

Paul looked up again, eyes sharp. “I’m not Daryl, not in the slightest. I don’t regret it and that’s the problem. I’m stuck between being utterly disgusted at myself for what I did, how far I took it, and at the same time wishing I’d done _more_.”

Realising it was going to be a conversation best had as calm as possible, Daryl walked to the kitchen area and grabbed a bottle of whisky they’d found on a run ages ago. After taking the two cleanest mugs, he returned to the table and sat down, pouring them both a liberal amount and pushing one in front of Paul.

“I should be better than that Daryl,” he muttered, staring into his mug. “I promised myself I would be. Back when I realised I’d have to kill, I swore to myself that i’d always try to find another way and if I couldn’t, I’d always be merciful about killing. Quick, clean, as little pain as possible. What I did then? I’d never done anything like that before.”

Paul let out a shaky breath and lifted the mug, throwing most of the drink down his neck in one go. It brought Daryl’s attention to the cut that now adorned it, a small section of the gauze stained with blood. He’d need to get the stitches checked, he’d probably torn some.

“So what happened just now?”

Daryl kept his voice gentle, unsure if he should have even asked, even spoken in the first place. Paul was hard to read and Daryl had no idea what he needed right now, he had to know more about what was eating him first.

“I kept seeing their faces.”

Paul’s attention was back on his hands, absentmindedly picking at the skin around his nails, breathing even and measured in a way that all but screamed that he was forcing it to be, hanging on to calm by the skin of his teeth.

“One minute they’d be themselves and the next, they’d be _them_. And it just threw me. I couldn’t control myself like normal, I couldn’t seem to figure out how to fight them, what to do. I wanted to hurt them all over again and then i’d realise it wasn’t them and try to pull back, all for it to keep repeating over and over!”

Paul’s voice was getting gradually less measured and he’d picked his fingers to bleeding. Daryl moved and grabbed one of his hands without even thinking, stopping their anxious movements. He didn’t want to see any more of Paul’s blood. After a moment or two, Paul twisted his palm underneath Daryl’s, both of them entwining their fingers together and holding on gently but firmly.

Paul finally looked him in the eye, face full of too many emotions now that he’d finally stopped hiding them. “Then you came and helped. Brought me back to myself so I could think again. One of them would have got a lucky shot in eventually. I would have died if you hadn’t turned up.”

“Told you I got your back.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks every now and then. Daryl realised he was running his thumb over Paul’s skin but couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

“It-” Daryl broke the silence, trying to figure out how to put into words what he was thinking. “It don’t make you a bad person, doin’ what ya did. Not many of us that ain’t done somethin’ like that.”

“Yeah I know, guess I just thought I was better than that.” Paul scoffed, voice tired and bitter. “How fucking self-righteous is that huh? But it’s true, I did. And despite all the promises I’d made myself, no matter how far above all that brutal violence I thought I was, I still looked him in the eye and swore I wouldn’t kill him, all the while knowing I’d do so much worse. I gave him my _word_ as I planned exactly how I was going to make him suffer.”

Paul sounded cold again, a tone Daryl hated to hear coming from him, it just didn’t sound right. Daryl squeezed his hand gently, hoping to pull him out of it a little, meeting Paul’s eyes when he looked up at him.

“What you did, you’ve already done. Ain’t nothing gonna change that. But you gotta set it to rights in your head, even if it’s just for now, till all this shit’s over. If ya don’t, it’ll keep eatin’ you up till it gets you killed. And...” he paused, voice dropping to a mumble. “I really don’t want it to get you killed. Don’t want nothing to get you killed. Like you alive, here.”

Paul’s eyes softened, warmth seeping back into his tone. “Really?”

Daryl nodded, no words available for him to express just how much he liked Paul alive, how the very thought of him not being sent the worst kind of fear through him. Paul kept looking at him, a soft smile on his face, stroking his own thumb against Daryl’s skin with no idea how much it made his heart nearly burst through his chest.

It was moments like that where Daryl found it impossible to lie to himself about what he felt. It was moments like that where Daryl could _almost_ convince himself Paul felt the same.

“Then I’ll try. For you.”

He said it so simply, like it wasn’t the best gift he could give Daryl. He was thankfully interrupted from his sudden mad desire to tell him just that by Paul’s muffled yawn and some slow, tired blinks.

“Come on, got an hour or two ‘fore we need to head back out there. Should try to get some sleep.”

The adrenaline rush had faded for the both of them, so Paul didn’t complain, just squeezed his hand once more before he got up and shed his coat and boots, flopping down face first into his bed with a sigh. Daryl did the same, wincing as his tired and aching muscles complained when he removed his vest but found himself hesitating as he glanced at his sleeping bag in the corner of the trailer.

If Paul had any complaints about Daryl dragging his sleeping bag and pillow right besides his bed, he certainly didn’t voice them.

And if Paul eventually moved right to edge of his bed and let an arm drop down, hand ending up right by Daryl’s shoulder close enough to touch, well, Daryl didn’t have any complaints to voice in the first place.

————

In the end, Negan didn’t leave them waiting for very long. They barely had time to sleep, to eat or even bury the bodies of their people, working through the night to get everything done. The sun rose and an hour or so later, the road in front of Hilltop was filled with approaching cars and trucks. And right at the front was Negan’s; it had finally begun.

Maggie, Rick and Ezekiel had commanded their forces, voices raising as they coordinated their people, putting in place the plans they’d all thankfully agreed on should he attack that day. As the trucks rumbled to a stop, Daryl couldn’t help but look over at the man opposite him.

The calm, determined look on Paul’s face was so different to the one Daryl had been lucky enough to see when they woke up from their nap. He’d never thought someone could look so fucking adorable with their faces smushed into the bed and lightly snoring. And it was snoring, no matter what Paul always argued when Daryl pointed that out. He’d seen him asleep before of course, but there was something different about it that time.

Daryl had woken up first and even though he knew there was an unending amount of work to be done, he let himself have a few moments of just looking. Paul’s confessions had rocked him; of course what had happened would have affected him, as much as he pretended otherwise, Daryl knew he wasn’t always as calm and steadfast as he appeared. Of course he’d have regrets and mixed feelings, it was just strange for him to actually admit it.

Paul didn’t have to tell Daryl that he rarely, if ever, shared what he was really thinking and feeling with people. He was as reserved and secretive as Daryl himself, maybe even more; Daryl at least had a few people who could see through his bullshit and felt comfortable enough to do so and call him out on it. Daryl didn’t think Paul had ever had someone like that.

The thought that Daryl might actually be that person warmed him. As much as he always wanted his family to come to him if they needed anything, he knew he was shit at the emotional sides of things. But with Paul, he actually wanted to hear whatever was on his mind; whatever was bothering him or making him happy, what was going through his mind at any given time. He just wanted to _know_ him.

It was at the exact same moment that Paul opened his eyes and instinctively smiled when he saw Daryl, that he finally admitted it to himself. He cared about Paul. A lot. More than he could put into words. Well, he knew the word of course, but there was no fucking way he was saying it, even to himself. But it was there.

The few moments he got to spend looking at a sleepy, soft Paul before he once again threw on his game face, was a gift, an image he knew he could keep in his head through the fight. Because he wanted to be there to see a time when Paul didn’t have to go from nought to eighty in two seconds flat, pulling on his calm, ready determination like armour.

Daryl wanted to see what he looked like on a morning where he had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Would he stay soft and rumpled in the trailer till he had his coffee? Would he refuse to get out of bed till he absolutely had to? Was he naturally grumpy in the morning? That’d be fun to see.

Daryl just wanted to be around to see the day that Paul could actually relax for once, to put down the burdens he always seemed to carry even when it wasn’t obvious to others. And Daryl wanted to feel that too; he wanted that for them both, together.

As the cars and truck rumbled to a stop, Daryl looked up at Barrington’s balcony and spent a few more moments looking down the line at his family. The thought that he might not see someone again terrified him, but he pushed it from his mind. They would win this time, it was impossible for them not too.

Maggie deserved revenge for her husband and an assured, safe future for their son. Rick and Michonne deserved revenge too, even if technically, it wasn’t Negan or the Saviours who killed Carl. More than anything, they just deserved _peace_ , some time for them to grieve Carl properly and eventually, be able to start living again. Carol didn’t just deserve some peace, she _needed_ it. Daryl was sick and tired of seeing her so broken down and empty, he wanted to see her happy again. And as odd as Ezekiel seemed, Daryl knew he was good for her, he made her feel human again.

His eyes moved below the balcony to the group stood in front of Barrington’s door. Tara, Rosita, Enid, Aaron; they all deserved to defeat the Saviours, to rest assured that their loved ones were avenged. Whether they wanted to see it as payback or not, they deserved to be able to lay their heads down at night knowing the people who caused their grief were dead and that everyone else they loved was safe.

The combined forces of his family and all the people from Alexandria, the Hilltop and the Kingdom, meant a lot of fucking people chomping at the bit to end the Saviours. They had grief, desperation, revenge and more importantly, hope on their side. They weren’t just fighting to have people under their boot, to be able to live the life of fucking Riley with everyone supplying their stuff. They just wanted a future, one that was as safe and fair as any could be in a world gone to shit.

Yeah, they were going to win.

Daryl saw the moment Negan exited his truck without even looking in that direction; it was obvious on the faces of everyone assembled on the balcony of Barrington house.

Daryl wasn’t up there with them; he and Paul were hidden on either side of the open gate, two teams of fighters waiting behind them. They knew Negan would have just blasted the gates open and they really couldn’t take the risk of them being damaged. Plus, as Daryl pointed out to them, they were ready for a fight anyway, why keep putting it off? If they left the gates open they’d have them safe and intact in case of walkers and it’d let Negan know they weren’t fucking scared of him. They were ready to end this.

Some words were thrown around but Daryl didn’t bother listening, it was all the usual bullshit anyway, he just got ready and watched Paul do the same. They were separated by the span of land between the gates, both knowing they were probably in one of the most dangerous locations, but not willing to have it any other way. Maggie and Rick hadn’t been happy when they told them they’d be staying there, but in the end they couldn’t argue, it made sense. Still, the goodbye had been fraught with worry, everyone fully aware it could be the last time they were really together.

Before they took to their posts, Daryl and Paul had a few moments together, just stood close as Hilltop moved around them and geared up for war. They didn’t really speak, not properly, but just being near to Paul calmed him for a moment. He wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him into a hug or-

But in the end, all they had was a few words, each demanding the other lived through the fight, sharing loaded words and loaded stares. Daryl was never one to hope, but there was a look in Paul’s eyes that he recognised, he saw it in his own often enough. He just hoped they’d both make it, that they’d have more time together.

Too soon, Negan was done waving his dick around, seemingly just as ready to fight as they all were. Daryl had one extra moment to meet Paul’s eyes, finding them already on his own, followed by a quick nod. Then it started.

No matter how often he did it, how ready for it he always was, how eager even, fighting was still something else. Bullets began flying around and shouts filled the air, screams of grief and pain as some of them found their marks. Daryl and Paul’s team began their attack as Saviours came through the gate, Negan unfortunately hanging back, happy to let his fucking minions go into the fire first.

Their surprise advantage was lost soon, as they knew it would be, and the fighting for them became brutal; a desperate, scrambling fight to survive and take out as many Saviours as possible before they came further into Hilltop, further towards Barrington house were Maggie, Rick, Michonne, Carol and Ezekiel were waiting.

They were forced to fall back soon enough, Daryl shooting and stabbing as many of the Saviours as he could, wincing with anger more than pain when he felt a slice on his bicep. He killed the Saviour that did it, a tall scrawny sumbitch that didn’t even have the dignity to not look utterly terrified as Daryl shot him in the head.

As Daryl and his fighters fell back, the Kingdom sent out a fresh wave of fighters, Ezekiel and Carol having descended from the balcony and leading the charge. Despite having to look out for his own ass, Daryl couldn’t help but watch, marvelling at the team Carol and Ezekiel made, pride blooming in his chest as he watched the fierce woman fight not just with anger and cold, collected hatred, but _love_. She was fighting for a future, for hope, not just in revenge or because it needed to be done. He was so happy for her, so relieved she’d found herself again and found a place and people who let her do that.

He was glad he’d stayed around to watch them when he saw an unchecked Saviour raise his gun at the King as he was busy fighting. Daryl shot him before the fucker could squeeze the trigger, catching Carol’s desperately grateful look as she realised what happened. He nodded at her and moved on.

More Saviours flooded in, the noise of battle deafening. Daryl rendezvoused with those left from his original group, trying very hard not to notice who wasn’t there, and joined up with the next wave of fresh fighters. They got behind the metal barricades they’d set up and reloaded, taking a moment to stay still and fire on the incoming Saviours.

Daryl knew it wouldn’t be long until Negan finally decided to take the field, or at least he hoped it wouldn’t be. If the coward decided to fucking run, there wouldn’t be a place on earth he could hide. It wouldn’t be like the Governor, Daryl would track his ass all the way into hell.

Looking over at Barrington, he saw that Rick and Michonne had entered the fray, tearing through Saviours with vicious precision and unchecked fury. To his horror, Daryl realised that Maggie had too, shooting any Saviours the others missed. It was a relief to see her surrounded by their people; Tara, Rosita and Aaron flanking her and keeping her safe despite her reckless fighting. He saw a flash of long hair moving around too, heart speeding up whenever he caught sight. From what he could see through the smoke and chaos, Paul looked in control, fighting with a vicious strength, but everything under his command.

A new knot of Saviours converged on them then, one throwing something towards Maggie and the others.

Daryl realised what it was as it sailed through the air, heart stopping as he screamed for them to move, to get down, to run, _anything_! But he knew it’d be no use, no matter where they ran, the grenade would still go off. Would still hurt or kill. In the seconds it spent flying through the air, Daryl knew he’d have to say goodbye to someone. Would have to loose yet another person. He couldn’t-

What happened next was almost like a fever dream, like his subconscious had taken over and replaced what _should_ have happened with something he’d seen in a movie.

The grenade arced down towards his family, everyone well aware of what would happen, then a lightning fast figure jumped in the way and snatched the grenade out of the air.

Daryl knew who it was before he really _saw_ who it was. Who else could it ever have been? The second Paul’s hand closed around that grenade he was sure the world was over, sure he was about to see the messy, gory end of the one fucking person he really l-

But it didn’t happen. Almost before Daryl was finished playing the scenario out in his head, heart stopping and eyes wide, scream trapped in his throat, he watched Paul throw it instantly back towards the group of Saviours. It exploded seconds later, taking the heads and torsos of the Saviours in an explosive, fiery mess.

Paul thumped to the ground, jumping back to his feet and ushering Maggie and her group towards cover without missing a beat. Daryl just felt frozen, fear still pumping through his veins. Then his feet moved without him even realising and if it hadn’t been for a flurry of increased gunfire, he’d have ran straight over there, straight to that stupid, crazy bastard. Daryl growled in frustration at being separated again, shooting or stabbing every Saviour that came near.

A roar sounded, one he recognised. He ducked around the barricade again to see Rick advance towards Negan, the coward having finally taken the field.

It was pure, unleashed fury after that and Daryl could only manage to catch glimpses of his friends and family as he fought. The last wave of Saviours that had followed Negan seemed to be his best, the ones he was saving for last, letting them rest whilst everyone at Hilltop wore themselves out. He was a fucking idiot if he thought that would work, they were fuelled by more than energy now, a manic fury ignited in all of them, the end of the fucking war and the future in front of them so close they could almost taste it. There would be no victory for Negan, Daryl knew that in his bones.

Explosions sounded in and around Hilltop as more grenades and Molotov cocktails were thrown. A particularly loud explosion sounded from the back of Hilltop but Daryl couldn’t move to see what had happened, he was bogged down with advancing Saviours, backed up by those left in his group as he made his way towards the centre of Hilltop. He caught a glimpse of Rick and Negan fighting before he was knocked on his back, barely able to hold the walker away from his neck. Then the body went slack, Daryl shoving it off and jumping up to see Aaron with his knife raised, barely enough time or breath to do anything other than nod at each other as they carried on.

Walkers were beginning to stir all over Hilltop, new enemies for them to fight from both sides. They began to fall, Tara and Rosita taking aim from their new position between two trailers, watching out for their distracted family. As hard as Daryl tried, he couldn’t see Maggie anywhere. Or Paul.

The fight needed to end soon, surely; the Saviours were still everywhere, but their numbers were even with everyone at Hilltop now instead of outnumbering them. He heard a cry beside him, heart freezing as Aaron crumpled to the floor. Daryl didn’t hesitate, grabbing his friend and dragging him over to Rosita and Tara, the two women giving them cover as Daryl found the gunshot in Aaron’s leg.

It was bad but not fatal, not yet anyway, the artery mercifully undamaged. Daryl shouted for Tara to keep an eye on Aaron as he ducked into the closest trailer, grabbing a blanket and rushing back outside. He tore it into two strips, one as a makeshift tourniquet and the other to wrap around the wound; it was all he could do for now.

“You stay alive okay?” He growled at Aaron, squeezing his hand tight, hoping to a God he didn’t believe in that he’d be okay. He wasn’t ready to loose a friend like Aaron.

“I’ll try, but if I don’t. It’s okay. Alright?” Aaron smiled up at him, blood loss making his face pale. “If I don’t, I’ll be fine. Be with Eric again.”

Daryl’s heart squeezed in pain. He knew how lost his friend was without Eric but as selfish as it may be, he wanted him to stay anyway. The gunfire and screaming got louder and Daryl knew he was needed for the rest of the fight, for the final push to victory. With one last squeeze of his hand, Daryl reluctantly left Aaron in Tara and Rosita’s capable care, ducking out of the cover of the trailers and back into the fray, swiping a fresh gun from the first Saviour he killed.

It was pure chaos, everyone fighting on both sides knowing that this was it, the fight to the end, the sprint to the finish line. Rick and Negan were still locked in their fight, Michonne keeping the rest of the Saviours away from Rick’s exposed back. He saw Maggie fighting her way over to them, pure rage on her face and Daryl fucking hoped she’d be the one to deliver the final blow, to end Negan and get her revenge, her closure. She was flanked by Siddiq, Enid and two of the guards from Hilltop, Dante and Kal if he remembered rightly, and they were watching her back with a fierce protectiveness.

Daryl tried to fight his way over to them but kept getting stopped, ducking a Saviour’s knife and killing him just in time to watch Maggie aim and shoot. Negan stumbled, grabbing at his hip and Rick took the opening. He knocked the knife out of Negan’s hand and sliced his throat, not deep enough to kill him straight away, Daryl could see that immediately, but watching that fucker clutch at his throat, blood pouring between his fingers, filled him with vicious joy.

“Enough!” Rick shouted, turning to look at the nearest Saviours, blood still dripping from his knife. Maggie’s gun stayed trained on Negan’s head from where she stood with Michonne, her face full of that same vicious joy and relief that Daryl also felt. As always, the power of Rick’s voice, his very presence, surprised and awed Daryl yet again; the battlefield slowed to a stop, both their side and the Saviours stopping to watch.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what _any_ of you wanted? Look around you! This was a safe place, protected from walkers, growing its own food with shelter for everyone. Now look at it! Because of this fight, this damn war, it’s nearly destroyed! And for what? For _what_?!”

A shiver ran through Daryl at the desperate, frustrated anger in his friend’s voice as he stood over the gasping Negan and addressed all of Hilltop.

“We can stop this, now. You can surrender right now, go back to the Sanctuary with a new leader and start afresh. You don’t have to own everyone, you just have to work _with_ us. If we set up trade between all of our communities, we would all benefit! No more scrambling through the ruined world for scraps! We could all just _live_!”

His voice cracked but still carried, and Daryl didn’t believe that anyone could listen to a speech from Rick Grimes and not be inspired. Still, he kept his gun and knife ready, not trusting a single one of the scumbags, but even he could admit, many seemed to be listening. Even if it was only because they realised that with their leader bleeding out onto Hilltop’s soil, they might not have any other options.

“We can make this a new world, one where we move on, change, make it better. _We_ can be better.”

Rick spoke with such intensity, such honest belief that for all his faults at times, Daryl truly thought that anything he talked about would happen, like he could bend the universe to his will. It was one of the reasons Daryl followed him and he could see it starting to get to the Saviours.

“Surrender. We can put all this in the past and move forward. We can make it, we can, but only together.”

For a moment, it was like hearing an echo of Glenn, his words coming from Rick’s mouth. His loss still burned and ached, almost overpowered by the guilt he still felt no matter what Maggie said. It would be hard, but if the Saviours surrendered, Daryl thought with time, he could put their actions behind him. He’d never like them, never forgive them, but for the good of all their communities, he thought he could try and leave it in the past; it’s what Glenn would have wanted.

Negan though? Daryl couldn’t wait to watch him slowly choke to death on his own blood, to see the life leave his eyes. There could be no forgiveness for him, no forgetting, no moving past it. Negan deserved to burn for what he did.

Slowly, then with increased fervour, the Saviours began to drop their weapons, raising their hands instead. Daryl felt dizzy, the realisation hitting him that this was it, it was finally over.

Rick nodded, looking shaky himself, moving his gaze away from the rest of Hilltop and focusing on Negan, still gasping and bleeding at his feet. Daryl watched him look at his bloody knife, red staining his hands and something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach. Rick knelt down and leant in close to Negan, speaking to him in low tones that Daryl couldn’t hear. Then he stood up and turned to where Siddiq was stood.

“Save him.”

Betrayal and shock hit Daryl like a bullet, legs going weak as he processed what Rick said. He repeated it louder, the unmistakable tone of an order, of something he would not be moved on, clear in his voice. Then Maggie started screaming.

Daryl couldn’t listen to it, couldn’t even watch. The raw, agonising sound of her screaming and crying tore through him. He stayed just long enough to watch Michonne get hold of her, hugging her close and trying to console her. It was useless, nothing would.

Daryl didn’t even look at Rick before he turned and walked away. If he wanted Daryl’s support on this, he’d be waiting a long fucking time. Whether Rick was his brother and leader or not, whether he would follow him straight to hell if need be, regardless of everything they’d been through together, he would _never_ have Daryl’s support in this.

He walked away in shock, past the surrendering Saviours and back to where he’d left Aaron with Tara and Rosita. Aaron was still alive to Daryl’s overwhelming relief, pale and shaken but stable. The girls looked as shocked as Daryl felt, but they were together and safe, no more than a scratch on either of them.

Daryl looked around Hilltop, taking stock of who was still standing. He saw Carol and Ezekiel embracing and felt a brief, warm rush at the sight even through his shock. He was surprised to see Eugene sat on the steps of Barrington with a sick looking Gabriel, he must have missed whatever happened there and honestly couldn’t bring himself to care yet.

But even as he kept looking, kept peering through the crowds of relieved people, kept verifying one after the other that his family was safe, a dark feeling kept spreading through him, one that had nothing to do with Negan.

Then it hit him.

Daryl looked around in terror. He couldn’t see Paul. He couldn’t see him _anywhere_. He turned to Tara and Rosita, the two of them pressed close together on the ground with Aaron, both of them in shock, faces showing their relief that it was all over. But for Daryl, it wouldn’t be over until he found Paul alive and well.

“Where’s Paul? You seen him?”

They both turned to him immediately, taking note of the fear and urgency in his voice. He saw Carol pull away from Ezekiel, concern on her face.

“Where’s Paul?!”

Tara’s expression twisted as she got up and stepped away from Rosita and Aaron, moving towards him quickly. “Shit, I saw him head towards that explosion at the back of Hilltop! I think Saviours were trying to sneak through the back, he took a group and ran off. I’m sure- Daryl wait!”

But he didn’t, he couldn’t. He just ran through the crowds of people and billowing smoke, mindless of the bodies around him or the calls of his name, Carol and Tara following after him. If Paul was hurt, if he was dead, if all Daryl found was a body or a walker, he honestly didn’t know what he’d do. The idea was like a black hole in his mind, sucking everything good into nothing.

Then people moved, the smoke cleared for a moment and he saw a person up ahead, followed by a small group leading people tied up with ropes.

“Daryl?!”

His legs felt like jelly, just for a moment before he was running again, Paul doing the same until they met in the middle. Daryl didn’t wait, didn’t concern himself with the people around him, he just grabbed Paul and pulled him to him, arms wrapping around him tight.

He felt Paul return the hold, the both of them clinging and clutching the other to them tight, as though that could stop the universe ever splitting them apart. Daryl could have sworn he felt Paul’s racing heart against his chest, could hear the ragged breaths in his ear as Paul tucked his face against the crook of his neck. He _knew_ he felt the soft but desperate kisses pressed there.

“You stupid asshole,” he muttered into Paul’s hair. “The hell were you thinkin’ with that grenade. Thought you were gunna die! You-”

“I know, I know,” Paul interrupted breathlessly, speaking the words against the skin of Daryl’s neck, one hand going up to cup the back of his head, petting his hair. “But they’d have died, couldn’t let that happen, ever. Had to do something.”

“Where the fuck did you go huh? Couldn’t find ya nowhe-”

“I’ll tell you later okay? Just- just give me a minute.”

Daryl dropped it, recognising the tone of his voice and feeling the same, needing a moment to just hang on to each other and breathe. Paul smelt like smoke and blood, they were tired and filthy and emotionally fucked but as they stood together, Daryl felt something settle within him. Paul was safe, he was here with him and Daryl knew he never wanted to let go, never wanted to loose that feeling of rightness, of completeness.

There was so much to do in the aftermath of the fight, but that could wait. Daryl needed this, needed a few blissful moments. And he knew Paul did too.

They didn’t end up kissing until much later, once the rest of the work and cleanup was done; people settled for the night and the wounded tended to, the Saviours either detained or sent back to the Sanctuary depending on what they wanted. Negan was probably in the damn medical trailer being fixed up, _saved_ , allowed to live when so many had died by his hands or orders. There would be trouble later, that Daryl knew in his bones, but for now there was peace. The rest could wait.

Once they were clean and relatively fed, sat on the roof of their trailer, the memories of fighting and betrayal, of grief and grave digging slipped away for a while. In the deepening dark of the night, a blanket of stars above them, they could just be. _Together_.

The things he felt and wanted from Paul, _with_ Paul, were strange and new. They made his stomach swoop with nerves, his heart pound and his breath speed up. That feeling, the potential future, were as terrifying as they were wonderful but Daryl knew it would be worth it. If he got to keep feeling that, it was all worth it.

He still felt shaken when he asked Paul what happened, the memory of that burning cold terror still vivid in his mind. But the warm hand slipping into his and the solid press of their shoulders and thighs from how close they were sitting helped ease that some. As did the soft smile Paul gave him.

Turned out a small group of Saviours had indeed tried to get over the walls at the back of Hilltop in an effort to blindside their forces from behind. They hadn’t counted on the few remaining explosives Daryl and Paul had set up. Daryl had been too far into Hilltop to really notice them going off, he just thought they were part of the general chaos, but Paul had been further behind. He’d grabbed a team of the closest fighters around him and headed to the back of Hilltop to take them on. The explosives had done their job, alerting someone as well as taking out a fair few of the attackers; those that managed to get over the walls were singed and raging, taking on Paul and his team with a fierce effort but ultimately, it wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t surprised that Paul had managed to get most of them to surrender, even before he heard Rick suggest it or the rest of the Saviours listen. They’d killed the ones who refused and tied up the rest, bringing them back to join the other surrendered Saviours. And all Paul got was a small slice on his forearms from blocking a knife. Daryl was so relieved he could have cried.

“I’m sorry Daryl,” he said softly, squeezing Daryl’s hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I did what you said you know? Put it all away to keep myself safe, to win. To... to come back to you.”

Daryl’s heart pounded. “Oh yeah?”

Paul smiled and nodded, his sea foam eyes dancing with fondness and hope and something so much _more_. “Yeah. If you want that?”

A shiver went up Daryl’s spine as he thought of everything that meant. He wanted that, wanted it so bad it felt like he needed to pull his own skin off, his body too small to fit all of his emotions. Despite everything he’d ever been told; how wrong it was to be the way he knew deep down he always had been, despite the scars on his body and the hateful voice he still heard in his head every now and then, no matter _what_ , he wanted Paul. Wanted to be with him.

“Yeah,” he finally choked out, feeling like he’d just done something brave, something honest, finally letting himself be who he was. “Yeah, I want that.”

There. It was done. He felt raw and exposed and so damn scared, but he finally felt _right_.

Then Paul smiled at him and he felt more than that; he felt everything.

Their first kiss was soft, gentle and so damn healing that Daryl barely knew what to do with himself. It was surrender, acceptance, longing and relief all rolled into one. A hand settled at the base of his neck, Paul’s thumb rubbing gently over the skin behind his ear and he couldn’t help the quiet noise he made. He felt like his bones were going to shake right out of his skin at such a small touch, a burning ache deep in his chest.

Even as their kiss came to a natural, easy end, they pulled no further apart, just leant their foreheads together and breathed as the universe moved around them. There was a future in that touch, a promise. They’d been through the worst times together and had more than their fair share of a painful past, but there was a chance for something new, something better. And they’d make it _together_.

————

_No matter how often it happened, Daryl still couldn’t help but think it should feel strange having Paul so close; his limbs tangled around him, breathing each other’s air. But it wasn’t, it was just right. Daryl didn’t care that his left arm was numb because it was supporting Paul’s neck, he didn’t mind the freezing feet leaching the warmth from his legs because he knew Paul liked being warm. And he certainly didn’t mind Paul stealing his air. All his breaths belonged to Paul now anyway and he never wanted it to change._

_Regardless of what they’d both had to go through, they had made it. Together. And when dawn broke fully, Daryl knew from experience Paul would groan and wrap his arms tighter around him, pulling him close for five more minutes._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this sequel took so bloody long! It was only meant to be a short little one! I started writing it a few days after the first but life and other fics got in the way. By then, canon had already dry fucked me and left me feeling a little let down, so instead of making this fully canon, I decided to just cherry pick elements and make my own. And since they did my boy Jesus so dirty, I just had to get the grenade moment in there at least! As much as I’d have loved to kill Negan though, I thought i’d keep him alive because I really do love the idea of a Maggie/Daryl/Jesus team up!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave a comment, I love hearing from you guys and comments are like finding water in the middle of the desert xxxx


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